Impulse
by nondescript name
Summary: Spoiler alert. Blair and Chuck are in a room. Alone. Together. Oh, dear. One shot, based on a sneak peak. Fluffy BC! R and R!


**A/N:** An impulse fic (which I named Impulse, lol) based on the extremely, extremely awesome sneak peak for the season finale. Which means** spoiler alert! **If you don't want to know, don't read! And sorry for the un-funny dirty comments, in advance. :P

Oh, and I WILL update The Hardest Button to Button, one of these days. I'm so sorry. The culprit: Writer's Block (that bitch).

**Spoilers beyond this point.**

Set the night before Blair and Chuck wake up (lying next to each other…face to face…legs intertwined…Chuck's arm delicately on Blair's waist…)

--

Chuck shouldn't be here. No, he should be writing his best man speech. After all, if may be his only opportunity to be a best man (seeing as his friendship with Nate is practically non-existent), so he can't screw it up.

Then again, he's only here for Serena. Yes, he decided, he's plotting Georgina's downfall for Serena. Not because being evil is fun, though it is, and not because Blair Waldorf is in a suite alone with him, looking just like she had that fateful night at Victrola, though she is. This is for Serena, his soon-to-be-step-sister, who hurdled into rock bottom not two weeks ago. It was Blair and Chuck (and Nate, but he's not here right now, thank God)'s job to bring her back up.

So, he should be here.

Blair sighed and made Chuck wince and reminisce. He knew she wasn't doing it on purpose (or was she?) and she was simply frustrated. His eyes glazed to the clock.

"Five after one." He muttered. He resisted the urge to get up from where he was sitting and pace the room. That was Blair's job.

They finished bantering almost two hours ago, she noted. It was same-old-same-old:

_"I can't come up with anything." Chuck complained._

_"How can you when you're in a vertical position?" Blair shot with a sly grin._

_"Funny, I remember seeing that smile before, but it was following by a yelp of my name…" _

_Blair rolled her eyes._

_"Ahh, I remember that too."_

It had been inevitable and somewhat funny (until Blair couldn't come up with anymore perverted-related insults). But now it was down to business: destroying Georgina Sparks. Blair and Chuck were the perfect for the job. Nate was pretty and all but when it came to ripping someone to shreds, he was useless.

"Oh." She replied, dully. "What was our last idea, again?" her mind was clouded with comments about how soft Chuck thought her bed was.

He tried to remember, he really did. But his brain was cluttered with previous conversations about how Blair felt about his chest hair. "Something about sabotage."

Blair would groan, but she knew Chuck would smirk that damn smirk he did every time he had an impure thought (which was frequently, especially now). "No shit. We had that established since last week." Blair was agitated. "God, we usually kick ass at this kind of stuff, what's wrong with us?"

Chuck stifled a laugh. "I'm pretty on top of my game." He wasn't talking about the plotting.

Blair wanted to smack him. "Bass, this is serious. Look at Serena, she needs us." She couldn't hide her lips curling. That one-liner was _kind of_ funny.

Chuck didn't like this. He didn't want to make remarks about his few nights with Blair; he wanted to continue them. He wasn't sure if she knew this. She probably did.

"I know." That was his form of an apology. He was looking at his hands now, avoiding her eyes. "Sorry, it's impulse." She probably knew that, too.

An idea was forming in Chuck's head (not one he might usually think of). "Maybe we could talk to Humphrey and expose Georgina for what she really is. Like, pictures, her police record—it must be on the Internet somewhere—and explain how many lives she's ruined." He thought aloud.

Not bad. Not that good, for Chuck's standards, but, it was one a.m. So, to Blair, that idea was gold. "Great." She mused, "I'm going to bed." She didn't care what he would undoubtedly say/think.

He got up, finally, and strolled to her. "Mind if I—" "Yes," She cut him off, "your place isn't far from here."

Chuck pouted. "I'll sleep on the floor." He offered.

Blair looked up at the clock. It was 1:30. "Fine." She said, firmly.

She walked toward her best as un-sexily as she could (Chuck's mind must be exploding already). Her body found her blanket and sheets as she draped herself on the bed, hearing Chuck's body finding the floor. "Good night, Chuck."

"That's not the last time you'll be saying that to me." He smugly retorted, his voice sounding too distance. Blair ignored that however.

--

Once again, his eyes went to the clock. 2:45. Blair must be sleep by now, Chuck thought. He was wide awake. How would be possibly sleep on a floor when he had dreamed in one thousand dollar sheets? The answer: he couldn't.

Chuck had been planning to get into Blair's bed ever since…well, eighth grade, but to actually sleep in, an hour ago. Enough was enough.

He rose as quietly as possible. He couldn't help but stop at the sight of Blair, her small body in an uncomfortable position, yet her face so serene. She breathed in and out deeply, her hands cupped under her head. She was beautiful. Chuck took back all of those despicable words he said months before. He only did so because he had been hurt, and he wanted to hurt someone else.

Gingerly, he crept next to her, settling in an awkward pose. He put his face inches next to Blair's, afraid to breath. He rested his hand on her waist. Chuck missed the ability to do that with her blessing. Finally taking a breath, he closed his eyes.

Blair had never fallen asleep. She had heard Chuck getting up, him climbing into her bed, and she just felt the warmth of his arm on her body, and never stopped him. Whether it was because she was too tired, or she was waiting anxiously for him to do it, she was unsure (actually, she wasn't).

Blair wanted so dearly to open her eyes, to see Chuck's face. But if she did, and his eyes were open as well, everything would be ruined. She kept them shut tightly, but than began thinking. Would it be so terrible if they were in bed together, awake? No, Blair considered, it wouldn't. Her eyes opened.

Oh, she realized. His were closed. Well, it's for the best, she convinced herself. Blair, instead of preparing a conversation, focused on Chuck: his face, motionless except for his nostrils expanding and contracting. It looks somewhat pained. He took his jacket off, she noted. He put his head on the frilly blue pillow, she noted again.

They would resume tomorrow: the banter, the hatred that they both know wasn't hatred. It would be the same. Blair wished it wouldn't be. But she forced that wish away.

He was asleep. Blair refused the temptation to touch his face, feel his features. She stopped herself from pushing her head closer, pressing her lips against his. Instead, she lifted up her leg and put it on Chuck's own.

She was sorry. It was impulse.


End file.
